Tagged: feet

A Diamond in Her Eye 0

Enlarge

gangster-539993_1920

Pixabay

“You’ll never get me to tell you where the jewels are,” the child said. She leaned back and smirked.

Too much television, thought the inspector. He sat down across from her rattling the metal chair against the table in the interrogation room. The girl leaned forward. She glared at him. The stare-off went on for a few minutes until he leaned forward.

The girl pushed back pinning her arms into the rests. She was a small child with her hair tied back in a blue ribbon. She looked just like the picture sitting on the table next to him. Below her, the marble floor stretched out nearly a foot from her feet. She casually kicked the legs of the chair. Barely seven years and so far the kid had stuck to her resolve.

An older inspector, Don Sexton, had grandchildren her age. If anyone could play grandpa it was him.

He drew a cartoon hand of a large rabbit holding a carrot. The rabbit took an angry bite. Bits of carrot flew out of the rabbit’s mouth. The angry rabbit sported a fluffy cotton tail. The little girl put her hands on the table. She drew closer to the drawing.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Sergeant Baker,” he replied.

The girl studied the drawing.

“He needs a badge, or something.” she said.

Inspector Sexton added a badge above the mark identifying the rabbit’s belly button. The girl shook her head no. She eyed the drawing with skepticism.
(more…)



Also on:

Retirement Tomatoes 0

Enlarge

tomato-498721_1920

Pixabay

His tomato plant stood in the middle of a mound of sand as a brittle stick with two wilted branches. He tried more water, which puddled around the stick. Water seemed to only lubricate the small grains before they cut into the base of the $2 plant. If a man could grow a field of potatoes on Mars, he should be able to grow a tomato. Or could he?

Across from his garden, the neighbor grew tall corn, squash, and tomatoes. The garden bloomed with buzzing bees, ladybugs, and pesky worms. In comparison, his garden looked worse than a desert with cactus flowers and burnt grass. He grew dirt.

The neighbor amended manure from rabbits, goats, and a horse mixed with straw. A goat would just eat the garden and he had no room for a horse. He decided he could raise rabbits.

The price of one rabbit totaled $12 at the feed store. He bought two. The rabbit hutch cost $54 and the clerk warned him she couldn’t tell a male from a female. If he had two females, then great. Otherwise, he should expect kits in 30 days. More rabbits meant more manure, so he agreed. Rabbit feed totaled $16 a bag and fed four rabbits a month. He was now a rabbit farmer.

(more…)



That’s a Wrap 0

His knee slipped and he hit the door frame hard.

“Son of a bitch!”

The unbalanced bag of dog food pulled him around the frame and into the stucco wall. The dogs bounced below his feet threatening to entangle him further. His knee and this new bump on his head each provided an equal measure of pain.

He let out a sigh.

Unfortunately, the abuse returned in the shower with the knee giving out again slamming his body into the wall. Another bump on his forehead.

“This getting old sucks,” he shouted through the glass panels.

Two more near slips and he was done. He climbed out of the shower wet, went back to bed, and called it a day.

Copyright 2015, Michael S. Sommermeyer. All Rights Reserved.



On the Path from Small to Large 0

Small.
Brownie Cottage.
300 square feet.
Enough room to sit.
And maybe spin all around.
The size of a gingerbread doghouse.
If the dog was a small mastiff.
A big dog with a very large appetite.
With no place to store the dog food bags.
The minimalists say we all could stand to slim down.
That our mega mansions, stuff, and stacks of books signify waste.
But the very thought of living in a one-room cabin frightens me:
Like Thoreau living in an urban forest with no solitude or private pond.
The stacks of books, hand selected, some with gold leaf edges are precious friends.
Even if they spill off the shelves and pile up in towers on the floor.
“You’re a hoarder,” say visitors who look down in disdain at my collection of wordy excess.
And although I attempt to purge, sort, and reduce the pages, it is hard to part company.
They all contain dreams, fantastic journeys, ginormous thoughts, hidden truths, ineffable fruit, obsolete wisdom, scientific hypotheses, and farce.
Put them on a Kindle, they say, yet most are out-of-print, esoteric, or hand-me-down treasures.
Which makes it all the more difficult to release them to a better place; a Goodwill, or a book sale.
So they stand stacked like beleaguered sentries circled in spindly towers keeping silent watch over words cluttering the floor.
They wait and watch with dread wondering when they will be released into the world and set free.
Each knows I haven’t the courage to sort, pick, or drop any of them into a box.
A certain belief none of them will be downsized to shoehorn them into a tiny house.
Or are they mistaken to express this joyful expectation that they are so highly regarded?
Unfortunately some must be labeled, screened, and stacked for certain delivery to the curb.
The house must shrink from 3,500 to 1,700 squares, albeit not a one-room schoolhouse.
It is still smaller than the library where the sentries now stand guard.
The childhood adventures remain and the college texts with inspired margin notes.
Each is carefully stacked next to the poems and dime-store mysteries.
The free classics will find a home electronic and portable.
Words stacked neatly alphabetical in my library virtual.
I will sneak in some Steinbeck or Holmes.
The rest will be donated for free.
To give others pleasure or pain.
The words will worm inward.
To plant a seed.
An inspirational spark.
To think.
Large.

Copyright 2015, Michael S. Sommermeyer. All Rights Reserved.

[plain]This shape poem works from one to 20 words and then back to a single word. Pick a topic and write your own shape poem. Add it to the comments below.[/plain]


The Devil Knows You’re There 1

He hung 100 feet above Fremont Street, like Superman, tethered only to the narrow ribbon of wire in a harness. Unable to twist and look up at why he was stuck, he looked down at the street instead. A sea of tourists moved below him as if he was another attraction. A small boy let go of a smiley-face balloon and started to cry.  A bald dude stared at him in a peewee muscle shirt. A ragged homeless man bumped the crowd begging for a dollar. A topless brunette in a devil’s costume waved at everyone while holding a red fan over her exposed breasts.

Mark had promised a different outcome. (more…)